Mother instinct - strike 2

For the past 3 days she struggled on that restless road she went;

Would've circled the entire earth, without the need to rest:

She believed, so much, so blindly... How deep, and how far can go

The faith that runs inside a crumbled, sad, lonely and darkened soul...

"It can't be, She must be able to make him breathe again, cry !"

She thought, while she kept approaching Mary, looking falsely shy.

"Even the most heartless being would cry, as its only child

Would die in its arms, stop breathing... You know it would surely try

Anything within its power... And You must know how I feel

As I stand in front of You, and with my heart aching, I kneel..."

Motionless, and holding Jesus, at that poor woman she stares,

As if all the pain and anguish she completely understands...

"Look at him, think what would happen if Your son was in his place;

So help me, help him... I wish to hear his voice, to touch his face...

Look at him now, he is sleeping; such an angelic beauty...

Set free all Your might and touch him, feel him, heal him, make him be...

You know there's no greater feeling that to hold him up your chest,

Cuddling, and seeking shelter, as if staying in a nest;

Everything simply don't matter, whenever he cries for you,

That maternal instinct makes you able to anything do...

Please have mercy, share Life from Your own, and make him breathe once more,

To feel his tiny arms around my neck, like just a week before...

As myself, You carry the entire world inside your child;

Oh, if only You would see what darkness has covered my mind -

The emptiness, the void which without him, my life would surely be,

Couldn't You, for a single moment, my aching darkness try and see?..."

But suddenly she stopped her talking - she simply couldn't speak no more

As she quickly turned her greedy look upon her child, which now was cold...

Dead. Stunned, she couldn't understand how Death was let to take its toll;

With unimaginable anger, she looked at Mary's wooden icon:

"What? You didn't feel no mercy, oh Holy One, as I cried out?

Poor me, I kneel in front of You, and You don't want to hear my shout?

You stay there, cold, your fists shut tight, Death in front of You my son took,

And You do nothing, You say nothing, only stare that wooden look?

It's over; everything. As much as You would ever want to try.

And take your clay; as it, You are stoned too, I only wish You'd die !"

And with a long laughter, she throws the body in the Holy's face,

Which, trembling and shaking, in front of the woman fells.

Her pain became her disappointment; with fierce eyes, she mumbles out:

"You never were a real mother; everything I now know it's not.

A lie ! So fool I was when trying to pray to a wooden board !"

And kicking Mary in the face, she laughed and mumbled something more...

She got up, and with an evil smile across her face, so wide,

She left her child behind and turned away... Because she became mad.